It's been a year with few climbing trips for me. Perhaps I should modify that and say no climbing trips; I'm wracking my brain trying to think of any. Except for this one, of course. Shawn's dad has a cabin up north; it's probably about twenty miles inland from the coast of Lake Superior. They call it "the Garbin" because it's actually a garage, complete with garage door, that has been completely outfitted like a cabin. Propane stove for heat, full kitchen, comfy battered furniture, located on Nine-Mile Lake. Shawn had big plans for a big group of climbers - Mike and Elizabeth, Jen and Peter... but when it came down to it there were just three of us, and Garth could only climb for two days - he had to be back to work (grad school) on Monday. So we had to drive two cars. Our plan was to leave early on Friday, have dinner in Duluth and then get to the garbin by a reasonable hour. Garth called me early in the day to ask if I could pick up one of his fellow grad students and give her a ride to Duluth.
I should at this point go into some detail about my state of mind. As I said, I hadn't had a good climbing trip in a while, and really wanted to go on one, but there was a certain anxiety involved, and some additional anxiety because we would be climbing at Palisade Head. The Head is probably one of the premier tourist viewing spots along the North Shore - and I mean, one of the premier spots for viewing tourists, as well as for admiring the view. The place is crawling with 'em. In addition, it's probably THE scariest spots I've ever climbed. It's a tall, tall cliff, often slightly overhanging, and the logistics of climbing there involve rappelling to the bottom and then being belayed from the top. This is not scary in itself, but the combination of all the factors... the occasional loose rock, the sharp edges that have been known to abrade ropes, the exposure to the rocky shore far below... add up to intimidation.
The fear ate at me as the day to leave neared. I worried. I thought about my ropes; a 10.5 mm Mammut - a great rope, but over five years old. The 9.8 mm Blue Water... new enough that it was still my lead rope, but very skinny. The 10.5 mm Blue Water that I had inherited from Randy - little used, but still five years old. It concerned me. Old ropes; and I knew that Shawn's were mostly in similar condition. And the anxiety caused a sense of foreboding; what if I was really feeling an omen? What if something DID happen? It worked at me, haunting me. And then Rick, my boss, and Diane, my co-worker both told me, "Be careful". An uncharacteristic warning - what could be more of an omen?
I spilled my fears to Ross, concerned about enjoying the four days of climbing, worried that I would be forced to climb something I didn't want to, worried about the ropes. He supported me, calmed me, set me aright. I decided I'd stop at Midwest Mountaineering on the way out of town and buy a new rope; it was about time, and then I wouldn't have to worry about THAT anyway.
I ended up picking up a Mammut 10.2 mm - actually one of their top-of-the-line ropes, with a coating to reduce wear, dry treatment, and mid- and end-marks. It was expensive, but I reminded myself again that a rope is a small expense compared with my health, and I felt better about the Mammut than the Blue Waters. I dunno... I just love the other Mammut rope I've got. It has held up SO well over time, feels really reliable and the weave seems really firm and flat so it seems to pick up less dirt from the ground.
Then I picked up Deana (the grad student) and we headed off for Duluth. Driving up with Deana turned out to be a remarkable and wonderful experience. She's from Russia, had been living in the states for a few years, and was going to Duluth to get together with her husband, an artist who lives in Superior and hadn't made the move to the cities yet. We bonded right away, and talked and talked all the way to Duluth. We talked about our lives, our histories. I don't even remember it all, but it was a great time. Her husband met us at Pizza Luce on the main drag in Duluth, and we hung out until Shawn and Garth showed up. Then Shawn, Garth and I devoured pizzas and continued the drive into the darkness. We got to the garbin around midnight.
We woke to a grey and drizzly dawn. Over a leisurely breakfast we came up with a plan for the day; sort gear, wait for the rain to stop, and then hike to Section 13, so called because of its designation on old survey maps. It's actually a stunning and wild and beautiful place and deserves a far more glamorous name. The approach is relatively straightforward; drive to the trailhead, hop on the Superior Hiking Trail, and walk through forests of birch and maple, trending uphill.
We each carried a fair load; our personal climbing gear, extra layers, water, food, and the ropes and stuff for anchors. The trail was amazing. All the maples were just past their peak, a stunning patchwork of gold. The effort of churning upward was so very worth it; as we ascended the back of the Section 13 massif we were rewarded with views of swaths of gold and red, patches of sun and shade chasing as the variable weather beat at us.
The top of Section 13 is easy to find; bare rock, recognizable cracks by which to locate the routes below. We scouted for gear placements and tied webbing to nuts, then threw the ropes down.
We hung three ropes, then rapelled one to a ledge. At the ledge Shawn set up an anchor and we climbed from there back to the top. There were three or four "easier" climbs from that spot, after which we traversed to our second rope and climbed a two tricky variations - one up an outside corner and across a face, and one up an inside corner with practically no holds. 
Then came the crowning climb of the day; a traverse from our belay anchor over to the right and into an alcove, from which we climbed a route called "Digit Damage". Oh, it was superb. It started out on big, positive holds up to and then through an overhang, above which a fingercrack split the face. Superb crack and face climbing followed up to another alcove at which the crux of the climb awaited. From the comfort of the inside corner I had to find enough purchase on the outer face to inch my body around and then reach around to find a second crack that split the upper face. A difficult move - pull on the crack, get a foot on the corner and STAND... and then move delicately up the face, using nubbins on the face for the feet, and the crack for the hands. A truely wonderful climb.At this point the sun was trending downward and we figured we'd better head out. A walk through the woods, an excellent pasta dinner with beer and whisky, and then I fell asleep while watching climbing videos.
The next day was the anxious one for me; we were to climb at Palisade Head. By the time we parked at the top and walked the short distance to the top of the cliff we were surrounded by tourists. We set up an anchor at the top of Bluebells, a good warmup, to a constant stream of questions. Shawn climbed, and then Garth.
Both reached the top huffing and exclaiming, "That was harder than I remembered!" Then it was my turn. Stomach churning I fed the rope through my belay device, wrapped my prusik around the rope below the device and clipped it to my leg loop, double-checked everything, and stepped over the edge. I lowered my weight until it was supported by the belay device, checked again, and unclipped my PAS (personal anchor system) from the anchor. Then off I slid into the void. The prusik knot is a self-locking knot; by rappelling with a prusik as a backup you ensure that should your hands leave the rope for some reason (i.e. if you were knocked unconscious by falling rock) you would not rappel out of control.I rappelled to the boulder field at the bottom, undid my prusik and belay device, and tied into one end of the rope. While I tried to calm my racing mind and stretch my arms Garth fed the rope into the GriGri at the top (a self-locking belay device) and prepared to belay me up.
"Belay's on!" he yelled down.
"Climbing!" I responded, and I was off. Before long I discovered that it was harder than I remembered, too. I had climbed Bluebells once before, years ago, and I remembered having FUN on the thing! But now I struggled and panicked; finding the 5.9 moves unexpectedly awkward. At about mid-height I felt freaked out; I was afraid of falling and swinging out, away from the wall, being unable to get back on and having to redo the whole thing. I wasn't having fun. I hung on the rope, panting, and then pulled myself together and finished the thing. When I pulled over the top a huge crowd of tourists applauded. I gave a bow.
At this point Brian, another climbing friend, had showed up, and he and Shawn headed off to the northern end of the cliffs to work on a couple of Brian's projects. Garth and I contemplated our options and chose Rapprochement, a 5.10 just a short distance from Bluebells. We set up our anchor and got comfortable, and Garth rappelled. At this point I was in a serious anxiety crisis. I had NOT enjoyed the first climb. I was in a bad place, mentally. As I belayed Garth up the climb, and he yelled and exclaimed at the excellence of it, I was seriously considering just not climbing any more that day.
He topped out, praising the climbing. I dithered. "Ready?" he asked me with a smile. I bit my lip, turning away. Tears threatened. I struggled; I didn't WANT to climb, didn't want to explain, couldn't really, felt so torn with the bright sunlight pressing down and the cliff dropping away below me...
Garth was understanding; he coaxed me. Said it was a great climb, just one hard spot. "You can just climb the top part, " he said. "Just rappel and then hang out at the bottom, clear your mind, get away from the tourists." And abruptly I decided to do it.
I rappelled, unclipped at the bottom and breathed in the smell of the lake, enjoying the solitude. Then I tied in. Garth put me on belay. The guidebook says, "A reachy crux at the bottom leads to slightly easier climbing above. Start on the face. Climb up through double cracklets (crux at pin) and enter the 5.9 corner above." The double cracklets were a delight to climb; steady, technical climbing. The crux was completely obvious; a fairly big, positive hold for the right hand, and another good hold far enough above that it required either a dynamic move or some fancy footwork to reach it. Being me, I opted for the fancy footwork. The upper section was as fun as the bottom, and I topped out with a huge grin. "That was awesome!"
We moved on to a climb called Ex Nihilo, also a 5.10. It turned out to be excellent, with a somewhat longer crux. Then we walked up the cliffs to see what Shawn and Brian were up to; Shawn was fighting his way up The Choice of a New Generation (5.11d). After he finished and we broke down their anchors we all went to the southern end of the cliff where Garth and I set up A Feathery Tong (5.10d). I got the willies again while he climbed; he fell once fairly low and I watched him swing out and then back in again. Then he fell repeatedly at the crux. I didn't worry about him getting up; I just focused on keeping our rope pad under the rope as it ran over a sharp edge. A group of tourist bikers were wandering around the top; they spotted me belaying and started asking lots of questions about what I was doing. They were all in black leathers and looked tough, but repeatedly said, "I'd never do that!" One guy wanted his picture taken next to me. Then he took a picture of me. "Flip me off!" he said, and I did with a grin.
When Garth finally clawed his way to the top he was tired but satisfied. I opted not to climb it; it was getting late and I was content.
The next morning Shawn and I decided to hike in to Sawmill Creek Dome. This particular section of the Superior Hiking Trail is so tremendously wonderful that it made me want to someday walk the entire trail. It starts out mild, works up and over a small rise, then down into a valley. Then up a seriously steep section and along the top of a rocky outcrop. The views were spectacular. Then down a steep trail and through another valley before working up to the top of the Dome. Shawn had been here the summer before so he knew what landmarks to look for. When we found the open, terraced top of the established climbs we set up a rope and a rappel line - a section of static rope that we would use solely for the rappel. We slid down and climbed our first route; I don't remember the name but I definitely remember the features; the rock was pitted with round holes. It was a fun and memorable climb. Then Shawn decided to lead the nearby crack. He worked his way methodically up, placing protection when possible. I followed, appreciating the placements. The climb was fun and challenging on toprope, and I managed to remove all the gear without hanging on the rope, but I knew that doing the actual leading would have been a signficant step up in difficulty. By this time the rock had heated up and we had noticed a large number of lady bugs, or rather, Japanese painted beetles, flying around and crawling all over the rocks. Shortly after this we realized that they were biting us, too.
At this point we moved our ropes to the far end of the cliff to try to find a harder route or two. We gave up on the idea of doing a 5.11 with a huge overhang, and settled for a 5.11 with a very technical section, and then to finish off, a 5.9 with a surprisingly difficult move. I climbed it last and tore down our anchors, while Shawn collected the ropes at the bottom and hiked back to our packs. I hiked along the top back to the rappel rope. The plan was for me to untie the rappel rope and drop it, then use the climbing rope to rappel off a tree after which we would pull the climbing rope and we would both hike out from the bottom of the cliff. However, I was so focused on rappelling off the tree that I completely forgot about the static line, and so did Shawn.
We had a great hike out, tired but content, and then drove to the Trestle Inn, just down the road from the Garbin, to devour burgers. My original plan had been to push for a return to the cities at this point if I was still freaked out and anxious, but it had been such an excellent climbing day that I was prepared for one more.
On the last day we went to Shovel Point. It's like Palisade Head's younger and friendlier brother. The approach is longer so the crowds of tourists are less, and the cliffs themselves are shorter, tend to be slightly less than vertical, and tend toward technical face climbing - my specialty. The day, however, was overcast and threatening.
We hung two ropes, on A Study in Scarlet (5.10b) and Sacred Biscuit (5.11a). The first was pleasant, technical, and fun. Shawn went first on the second, and was full of exclamations about the magnificence of the moves. I rappelled to the start, waited for him to take up the slack on the belay line, unclipped my belay device, and... dropped it off the carabiner as I was reaching to clip it to my harness. "Oh shit!" I yelled as I watched it bounce down below me, pause at an evergreen clawing a hold on the rock, and proceed down to the lake below. And then the rain started.A light rain, but persistent. I found some holds, pulled my weight onto the rock, and struggled with the first overhang, not finding anything. I wondered for a moment if I would have to swing over to the easier ground to the right, try to climb back up the start of Scarlet, but then I found an incut sidepull and rocked my weight up over the first overhang. After that it was a methodical matter of stepping up to the second overhang, heaving up on the positive sidepull and into the crack above. I missed a foothold there and ended up overextended on small crimpers, and slipped off... but got back on and worked up to the weird position that turned out to be the crux of the route; a sidepull/highstep combination that led to a slap for a sloper, and then through crimpy stuff to the exit.
A great climb, and the end of the day as the rain kept coming down. We had hoped to get on Narcoleptic Epic (5.11d) but it would have to wait for another trip.
